


Clegane's Keep

by Frenchcroatiansquid



Series: Finished fic [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward threesomes, Bondage, Disturbing Themes, Execution, F/M, Forced effeminization, Gags, General Creepiness, Gregor POV, Gregor is his own warning, Gregor playing with his victims, Have I mentioned that Gregor is his own warning?, Indiscriminate mass murder, Kevan pov, M/M, Multi, Murder, Necrophilia, Plot Twists, Rape, Sandor POV, Sexual Violence, The psychology of Kevan Lannister, Voyeurism, Watersports Gregor-style, aftermath of rape, psychological exploration, tw gore: chapter 6, tw rape: chapters 1 to 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchcroatiansquid/pseuds/Frenchcroatiansquid
Summary: Clegane's Keep has always been a scary place.Based on a plot bunny that Java1 put in my head. But I take full responsibility. Read at your own risk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Java1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Java1/gifts).



> Please read and heed the tags and warnings.

He sat with his back to the wall, his face shielded by the shade of the corner, his plate filled with roast deer, buttered turnip and mushrooms, mutton stew, and freshly baked bread – all the good food his father only served up when the high lords came visiting. He liked sitting in the corner where no-one could see him, but he could see all.

The hall was filled with the sound of hundreds of men supping together, laughing, bawling and clanking their tankards of ale.

His head was pounding. It always did, but anger worsened the pain. “Behave yourself while m'lords are here,” his father's words rang in his ears. “If any of m'lords' servants disappear there'll be trouble, boy, an' I won't be able to help you none this time.”

“They can't give us no trouble,” he remembered telling his father. “I'm stronger 'n them.” The look Ser Harthor gave him in return stung. “That's not how it works, boy,” he'd said as if his son was an imbecile. “They're lions, an' we're dogs. They give us our land 'n we serve them.”

Gregor didn't like serving, much less men who were _weaker_ than him.

He eyed his father's guests on the dais. The lion lord was slender while his brother's tunic lay taut around his waist. Both were trained knights, or so they claimed, but he knew he'd have no trouble defeating them, even if they came at him at the same time.

His father was sitting a few feet away from them, groveling before the lords in gold and red. _You don' tell me what to do no more._ _Nobody_ told him what to do: not his father, not the lion lords, not the dragon king, _no-one_. _They're all weaker '_ _n me._

He'd killed his first man with his bare hands before his twelfth nameday, a hedge knight who'd sought shelter for the night in a shack behind the lake. He'd strangled him and crushed his skull before taking him. Gregor still remembered his eyes right before his body went limp, bloodshot and bulging, filled with the realization that he was going to die.

His father's men had found the stripped corpse by the water and raised the alarm, but Ser Harthor had told them an animal must have savaged the man, and no-one had dared to mention him ever again. _I could kill father if I wanted to, and he knows it. I could kill him, and those lords, too._

His teeth tore into a haunch of venison, ripping out large chunks of meat, blood and juice running down his chin. _They think they're lions, but I could tear their throat out._

He gulped down another cup of wine to dull the ache in his skull, but somehow, that only seemed to make his throbbing head worse.

The feast dragged on and on. All Gregor wanted was to get up and leave the noisy hall behind, but for that, he had to emerge from the corner and face all the stares. Everyone always stared.

He'd been too tall for his age all his life. The servants at Clegane's Keep knew better than to let their eyes linger too long, but whenever people came from the outside, they would gape at him as if he was some kind of rare beast from the forest. Some would try to hide their curiosity; others stared unabashedly. He knew the words they all whispered behind his back. _Freak, monster, freak, freak_.

He got a sinking feeling in his stomach when his father leaned over to his guests, gesturing in his direction.

The lion lord got up, his eyes roaming over the tables down below him. _He's heard tales, an' now he wants to see for himself_. Gregor moved back on his chair, but it was too late. He had seen him.

Men moved aside, clearing the path. There was nowhere for him to hide now.

The lion lord stood in front of him. Gregor was looking down at his plate, but he could feel the man's eyes on him, studying him. He knew that look well enough: that odd mix of contempt and curiosity. _Freak. He's come to look at the freak._

The noise in the hall had died down. “How old are you, boy?”

He knew he had to respond, but somehow, all he could do was stare at the table, clenching his fists. _I'm no boy no more. I could strangle you here 'n now if I wanted to_.

“He's shy, Tywin, leave him be.”

Gregor felt his ears redden. He couldn't say what he hated more, the lion lord's contempt or his brother's pity. _I'm not shy, I just don't like talking is all._ “I'm almos'... almost...”

“Speak up.” The man's voice was as sharp and cold as his eyes. “I can't hear you.”

Before Gregor had a chance to say anything, Ser Harthor stepped in. “Almost sixteen, m'lord. He's almost sixteen.”

“Then he ought to be able to speak for himself.”

“He's a good boy, strong as ten men, and loyal, m'lord.”

Gregor took a deep breath. _Father's selling me like a piece of cattle_. Slowly, he rose from his seat, his heart still pounding. Half the hall gasped. The portly lion took a step back, and even his brother seemed startled.

That was all he needed to regain his voice. “I need to take a piss,” he said as loudly and clearly as he could before pushing the gawking Lannister soldiers aside and heading for the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for rape and generally disturbing scenes. This is Gregor.

His fist slammed into the wall of the privy, leaving a dent. Streaks of blood mixed with the crumbling plaster, but he was so _angry_ he barely even noticed the cuts on his knuckles. _I'm not shy, and I can speak alright_. Everyone was afraid of him, _everyone_.

The servants _shook_ with fear when they brought him his meals or made his bed, relief in their eyes when he just grunted and sent them on their way again without incident. His brother always ran from him, and his sister would turn pale when she caught a glimpse of him. Even _father_ was scared of him, and rightly so. _I could snap his neck no problem._

He put his cock away, wiped his bloody hand clean on his shirt as best he could and started to head back to the Great Hall. “Sit with the lions, boy, maybe they'll take you into their service, son,” Ser Harthor had said. But he was sick of all the noise, of the red cloaks staring at him, of his father trying to sell him like a piece of meat, of the lion lords looking down on him. _Fuck 'em all._ He turned around and walked towards his bedchamber in the inner keep.

His brother was heading down the hallway, stopping in his tracks as soon as he saw Gregor coming. For a moment, it looked as if there was a smile on Sandor's face, but it was only the light of the torch flickering across his scarred face. Then, his brother turned around and sped away. _Run, little bastard, run, an' thank the gods I'm in no mood to give chase._

The door to his sister's room was ajar. Elinor stood behind a half-closed curtain, wearing nothing but her long white underskirt, bent over a bucket, washing herself to get ready for bed. _Father told her I'm at the feast. She thinks she's safe._

Gregor's mouth twisted into a smile. He pushed the door open a little further to get a better look.

Elinor was a woman flowered, only two years younger than him, her waist slender, her breasts full and round. He could tell by the way her hands were shaking as she pinned up her hair that she had heard him. But she pretended as if he wasn't there, spreading soapy foam over her face, gently rubbing it in before washing it off with water from the bucket.

His cock was twitching. _I could take her again, makes no matter now._ They would never find her a husband, not after what he had already done to her. He unlaced his pants and started stroking himself, watching as Elinor patted her face dry and slipped on her bedrobe.

A hand touched his shoulder. _Father_. “It's late. Come, boy, time to go.” _Not while m'lords are here_ , his eyes seemed to say. _I mean it, son_.

Gregor slammed his knuckles into the wall, leaving a bloody print. He wanted to shove Ser Harthor aside, walk into Elinor's room and take her right in front of him. But his father's eyes were cold. _Not today, son._

“ _Fine_ ,” he grunted. He was too tired to deal with his bitch of a sister anyway. She wasn't like the serving girls. Sometimes, she would fight back, screaming for help - as if any of the guards would dare to stop him. But her shrieking and kicking always made his head hurt.

Ser Harthor accompanied him all the way back to his room. “Get some sleep, boy,” he said before he closed the door. “We'll go huntin' with the lords tomorrow, you show 'em what you can do.”

 _He thinks he can tell me what to do, but he can't, he's_ weak, _weak n' scared._ Gregor was pacing in his room, trying to calm down. He was about to go back and find Elinor to take what was _his_ when a knock on the door interrupted him.

It was his sister's handmaiden, carrying a flagon of wine. “Your... your... f-father sent me, m'lord. To... to bring you-”

Before she could finish the words, he had grabbed her, pushing her onto the bed, tearing open her dress.

The girl let out a shriek and tried to twist away, but it was too late; he had her pinned down. He covered her mouth with one hand to muffle her screams as he ripped off her smallclothes. “Shut up!” He didn't like it when they screamed. “Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!”

He flipped her onto her stomach, holding her down as he forced his way inside her. The girl was sobbing, writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to free herself. “No-one can help you none,” he whispered in her ear, “Not the guards, not my father, not the lion lords. I'm stronger than all of 'em!”

Somehow, those words only made him angrier though. _I wanted Elinor, not her._ He thought of the lion lords, all high and mighty, with their contempt and their pity. _I could have had Elinor no problem if it wasn't for them_.

Instead, he was stuck with this useless serving wench. _Father's afraid o' the lions, but I'm not. I could take 'em just like I can take her._ He wondered if they would they sob and squirm like _her_ or if they would fight back like Elinor.

Either way, he would wipe that smile off the stout lion's face, and then he would teach his arrogant brother what it meant to be afraid. _They wouldn't look at me like that no more. They'd be scared o' me._

“I'll show 'em what I can do, father” he mumbled as he spilled his seed inside the girl. “I'll... show... them... alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

He awoke with the girl's limp body by his side. The candle on his bedside table had almost burned down. “Get out.” He shook her. “Get out. Now!”

When she did not move, he gave her a push, shoving her off the bed. She hit the floor with a thud.  _Stupid cunt. I wanted Elinor, not you._

The flagon of wine she had brought him was still full. He took a deep sip and then another. It was sour and burned in his nose, but he was used to that. _Always cheap wine for the dogs._

“I need to piss,” he told the lifeless body on the floor. “You get out before I'm back or I'll snap your neck.”

He trudged toward the door, grabbing his oil lamp on the way. He wouldn't have needed it: the hallway was brightly lit, fire flickering in every single torch hanging on the wall. _In case the lion lords are afraid of the dark._

At least the keep was finally quiet. All the drunk Lannister soldiers had stumbled into bed in the stables.

Only two red cloaks sat in front of Ser Harthor's quarters. His father had even vacated his own bedchamber so the lions could sleep comfortably. _Of course. He'd give 'em Elinor if they come asking for her. He'd thank 'em for the honor_. He clenched his hand around the lamp's metal handle.

It was only when he came closer that he noticed the guards were fast asleep. _Too much wine._ He slapped one of them across the face and kicked the other, but they did not wake. Nobody else was around. _I could go see if sweet Ellie is with the lords, give 'em all a good fright_.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He quickly looked over his shoulder before he slipped through the door.

A fire burned in the hearth of his father's solar, and there was food and wine on the table, but no-one was around. A large, iron-clad door led to the main bedchamber. But it was the smaller, wooden door right next to it that caught his attention.

 _That's where mother used to sleep._ He tried to picture her face, but all he could see were her bulging eyes in her moment of death. _It was an accident. I never wanted her dead._ Other women had followed to warm his father's bed, but none had lasted very long.

He carefully pushed the wooden door open, raising the oil lamp so he could see inside the room. There was only one man in the bed, his body turned away from him, facing the wall. He felt briefly tempted to wake the lion lord, shout at him, scare him out of his wits. But he knew there would be trouble.  _He'll wake half the keep._

His head hit the frame of the door as he turned around.  _Damn this bloody place._ Everything was too small.

The man in the bed sat up, squinting his eyes. “Tywin? Is that you?”

For half a heartbeat, Gregor was paralyzed, unsure of what to do. _He saw me. There'll be trouble_.

“Who's there?”

 _He knows I'm not his brother. He's going to scream bloody murder._ Gregor slowly lowered the lamp, trying to think of something to do.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” The man sounded frightened now.

Without thinking, Gregor jumped onto the bed and pressed his hand onto his mouth. “Shut up!” He hissed. “Shut up now or I'll snap your neck.”

The lion lord tried to fight back, thrashing wildly and biting his hand, but that did nothing to stop him. He felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. Those eyes that had looked at him with pity earlier were filled with _fear_ now. 

He knelt on the other man's chest, squeezing all the air out of his lungs, choking him until his body went limp. _There'll be trouble_ , a voice at the back of his head whispered, but it felt good, _so_ _good._ He had to force himself to stop. _I can't kill him now_ , he told himself. _I'm not done with him. I'll_ show _him who's shy._

He tore up the bed sheet and stuffed it in the lion lord's mouth. _That'll help keep him quiet_. His eyes darted around the room. There was a long cord hanging next to the curtains. He cut it off and firmly bound the man's hands behind his back before tying up his legs as well.

He finished just in time before the lion lord started stirring on the bed, groaning in pain through his gag. Gregor picked him up and threw him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. “Let's go find your brother.” _Before he comes 'n finds us_.

He took the man's sword, as well as the rest of the cord and a pillowcase. _I'll have to be fast_.

The heavy door to his father's bedchamber creaked as he opened it, but it was only when he dumped the bound man onto the bed and tapped the sleeping Lannister lord with his sword that he awoke.

His face turned pale when he saw his brother next to him on the bed, struggling to free himself, but his voice remained calm. “What is this folly, boy?”

“I'm no boy.” Gregor pointed the sword at his chest. “I'm a man.”

“Then act like one.”

Gregor slapped his face. _There'll be trouble_ , he knew, but he no longer cared. He'd wanted to do this for so long. “You don't tell me what to do. I'm stronger 'n you!” The shock in the other man's eyes was priceless. _Didn't see that coming, m'lord?_

For a moment, the lion lord was so startled he did not move. Then he darted towards the edge of the bed, reaching for his own sword. Gregor dropped his weapon and grabbed his arms, throwing him back down.

“I'm faster 'n you, too. An' I'm sick o' all your talking. You talk too much.” He smiled as he closed one hand around his neck and stuffed the pillowcase in his mouth.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Gregor is still his own warning.

The lion lord was fighting back, thrashing on the bed, struggling to free himself from the iron grip that pinned him down. Gregor wrestled with him for a while to gauge his strength before he grew bored and flipped him onto his stomach, twisting his arms behind his back.

His eyes were searching for the cord he'd brought to tie his hands when he got a better idea. He grabbed the man's sword hand, bending and twisting the wrist until he heard a muffled howl of pain and the sweet sound of bone crunching. “Try fightin' me now!” He grunted. “Get your bloody sword an' try fighting me now.”

He was tempted to snap the other wrist and his ankles as well but thought better of it. _Don't be greedy, boy, leave some for later_ , his father used to say at dinner. _Leave some for later, Gregor._ He smiled as he found the cord and tied it around the lion lord's legs. _Father would piss his pants if he could see me playin' with his precious liege._

The man was holding his broken wrist, staring at it as if trying to convince himself that he was only dreaming, that none of this was actually happening. The shock in his eyes gave Gregor tingles in his groin. _Didn't see that comin', m'lord. Didn't think a_ dog _could harm you. I'll show you_. “Get your sword, an' maybe you can save your brother.” 

Smiling, he twisted his broken wrist one last time. Then he turned towards the other man next to him on the bed, cutting through the cloth of his night robe with his dagger until he lay completely naked, hands bound behind his back, his chest heaving up and down, his pale legs trembling. _Still feelin' sorry for me? Still think I'm_ shy?

He pulled him across his lap and gave him a good swat on his backside before pulling his buttocks apart and forcing a finger up his quivering hole, laughing at the look of shock and helpless indignation on the man's face as he kept probing him. “Squirm all you want. No-one can save you now. Is just your sweet ass 'n me.” _And your lordly brother, but I'll fuck him too soon enough_.

He could see the other lion from the corner of his eye, using his one good hand to drag himself forward, slowly crawling towards the door. _Tryin' to run._ Gregor smiled, pretending not to notice, waiting until the man had reached the door before getting up and grabbing him by the ankles, effortlessly dragging him back inside on his stomach. “No runnin'.”

He got himself a jug of wine from his father's solar. By the time he was back, the lion lord had almost reached the door again. Gregor took a deep sip directly from the jug, letting him crawl all the way to the hallway where the red cloaks were still sleeping before pulling him back into his father's bedchamber. “I said _no runnin'_.”

The Lannister lord was holding on to anything he could find with his one hand, the table, the chairs, and finally, the frame of the door, but he was no match for Gregor. In the end, he lay on the floor, defeated and exhausted, frustration in his eyes.

“Tired of his this game, m'lord? Let's play another game then.” Gregor picked him up and threw him onto the bed, pressing down on his chest with one hand while slapping his face with the other. “Let's play  _fuck the lion lords_.”

Gregor enjoyed seeing him writhe like a fish out of water, watching the panic in his eyes build as he struggled to breathe, but he needed him to stop trying to flee. It was beginning to annoy him. “You're worse 'n Ellie, m'lord. Bitch bit me once.” He tapped the gag. “ _You_ can't bite me though. No biting, no talking, and no more runnin' neither.”

He sat on the lion lord's chest, a triumphant grin on his face, tearing up his bedrobe of heavy brocade with his bare hands and using the strips of cloth to tie his wrists to the frame. The right hand was blue and swollen, tender from the fracture, making the man wince as Gregor wrapped the cloth around it and bound him tightly.

There was a quill and a roll of parchment on the bedside table. Gregor reached for the quill and pushed it up the man's nose, wiggling it around until he started sneezing. “Looks like you caught a chill, m'lord.” He kept tickling his nose and poking up his nostrils until the lion lord's face was red, his eyes swollen and teary from all the forced sneezing.  _You're mine now, mine to play with, nothin' you can do._

A sudden thud jolted him from his thoughts. The stout lion had rolled off the bed and bumped his head on the floor, a thin trail of blood trickling down his face as Gregor pulled him back up by his neck, shaking him.

“Runnin', fightin', kickin', worse than Ellie the both of you.” He pushed him onto his knees. “If you scream, I'll snap your neck,” he whispered as he pulled the gag out of his mouth. But he need not have worried: the man was sobbing quietly, too terrified to move or call for help.

“I been watchin' you,” Gregor told him as he stroked himself to hardness. “You always try to please your brother. Tywin Tywin, always Tywin this, Tywin that. See how you like pleasin' him now!” With that, he shoved his face down onto his brother's lap, forcing his cock into his mouth.

The kneeling man was retching and gagging, but Gregor had a firm grip in his neck, preventing him from raising his head and pulling away. “Best not bite down too hard when I fuck you, or you'll bite off your sweet brother's cock.”

He spit into his hands, rubbing the saliva onto his member before digging his hands into the trembling shoulders in front of him, breathing in the scent of fear and desperation as he forced his way inside the tight hole.

He could not see the man's eyes, but he could feel him twitch and contract in panic as he kept thrusting, and he could see his father's liege lord turn his head, unable to look Gregor in the eye at last. _Not so high and mighty now_ , he thought. _Not so high an' mighty at all._

And for the first time since the damned Lannister army had set foot in Clegane's Keep, he felt fully alive again.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it up to this point, you probably have a pretty good idea what lies ahead. But yeah. This is Gregor at his best/worst.

 

The lion lord kept collapsing on the bed, his body shaken by violent tremors. Gregor had to drag him back up onto his knees, but it was hard to hold him still. _Is easier with a corpse. A corpse don't move so much._

Taking a living creature was _better_ though: the smell of fear, the body twitching and contracting, the taught ring of muscle right at the entrance working wonders around his cock.

He'd never considered a living man's opening would be so _tight –_ tighter even than his sister the first time he'd taken her, so tight that Gregor's member was still sore just from entering him. But the exhilaration pulsing through his body made up for the pain. “Still think I'm shy now?” He grunted. “Still think I'm shy?”

The lion lord could do nothing but gag and cough in response, choking on his brother's cock. His face had turned almost blue. Gregor yanked his head back and slapped him. “No passin' out. I'm not done with you.”

The man gasped for air. His lower lip was quivering, making it seem as if he wanted to say something, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

“Done talkin'? Good. Don't need no babblin' lions around here.” Gregor stuffed the cloth back in his mouth, pushing his head down onto the mattress. _Jus' to be safe. Don't need no screaming lions neither._

He kept thrusting until his seed came bursting out of him in a series of explosions and he collapsed on top of the lion lord. For a sweet moment, his mind was completely blank.

As his member went limp, he suddenly felt the pressure in his bladder again that had made him leave his room in the first place. _“_ I was goin' to take a piss before I found you,” he told the man underneath him, relishing every word. “Might as well take one inside o' you now.” He relaxed his muscles, feeling the warm fluid rush out of him. It felt _good_.

The lion lord's face twisted into a mask of horror and revulsion at this final insult. _Didn't expect that, did you?_ Gregor thought, the smile on his face widening. _This night is jus' full o' surprises for you lions_.

Once he had emptied his bladder, he pulled out at last. The man was face-down on the bed, sobbing into his gag. “ _Stop_ your whining, or I'll snap your bloody neck.” Gregor shoved him aside, kicking him off the bed.

The slender lion lord's face had turned ashen, cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Gregor grabbed his sword. “You're my _wife_ now,” he told him as he cut the cord that bound his legs, holding him still with his other hand. His cock was swelling again just from watching the man struggle helplessly against his iron grip.

“No kickin'!” He pushed his legs back against his stomach and pressed the end of the blade against the underside of his balls, twirling it briefly. “Know what I should do? I should cut off your man parts and cut you a proper lady hole. How would you like that?”

The man froze at the sensation of cold metal on his private parts. His green eyes that had looked down on Gregor earlier with so much contempt were filled with blind terror now.

Gregor couldn't help but laugh. “Ah, your hole will do. Is just as good as a lady hole. Bet is a virgin hole, too.” He flung the lion lord's ankles over his shoulders. “You hear me? You're my lady wife now. I will fuck you 'n your virgin hole like a shy maiden on her wedding night, m'lord.”

Nothing compared to the feeling of absolute power as he lowered himself. _Like fucking the king hisself. And might be I will one day. Who gonna stop me?_ His cock was still slick with cum and blood, but the man was clenching so tightly, he had to force his way in, scraping the skin at the tip of his cock.

But the pain was rewarded with the most amazing sensation he had ever felt. He stayed in the tight, quivering spot for a moment, letting the man's panicked muscles do all the work for him. Then he thrust deep into the empty space with a loud groan until he hit a wall, making the lion lord shriek into his gag. “What's that? Can't hear you. Speak up, sweet lady wife. Or can't you speak for yourself?”

Gregor cupped his face, forcing him to look at him. _Fucked the arrogance right out of you_ , he thought _._ His groin tingled, sending shudders of pleasure through his body as he picked up the pace again, plunging in and out with full force until he spilled himself inside the warm hole.

“Ah, my sweet lady wife,” he sighed, resting his head on the other man's chest, playing with his nipple. He could feel the lion lord twisting underneath him, trying to extricate himself. 

 _I showed you_ , he thought as he dozed off. _Father's afraid o' you, but I'm not. I showed you who's in charge._

A clank jolted him awake. _Something's wrong_ , he knew immediately. He looked down at the lion lord. The man had stopped struggling against the limp shaft still stuck inside of him, his eyes distant and vacant as if his mind had left his body.

There was another clanking sound. Gregor pulled out, cursing. His eyes searched the room for the other lion, but the man was gone. _Is alright_ , he tried to calm himself, _I tied him up good, he can't be far_.

He grabbed the lion lord's blade and headed for the door, only to run into a Lannister soldier on the other side of the doorway. The red cloak looked scared when he saw Gregor towering above him, instinctively taking a step back, his sword trembling in his hands. But there were ten others behind him.

The way was blocked.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic depictions of violence and gore

People had gathered in the courtyard in front of the inner keep. Most of them were strangers from villages in the hills surrounding Clegane's Keep, craning their necks to get the best view of the wooden platform and the makeshift gibbet on top of it. _Everyone come out to see the execution_ , Sandor thought.

There were no stalls or carts though, no vendors selling food or ale, no mummers, not even beggars. The lion lord had made it known that anyone caught lining their pockets would face the noose.

Sandor felt a twist in his stomach, whether from fear or anticipation he could not say. He had brushed his hair all the way over his scars and drawn his hood deep into his face. _We look like peasants come for the spectacle, jus' like everyone else_. Or so he hoped.

Almost a fortnight had passed since they had fled the keep in the middle of the night, just him, his sister, the maester, and Alma. His sister's maidservant had been barely conscious, so they had to carry her through the empty halls of the inner keep and past the barracks where the Lannister troops were sleeping.

Maester Quenten had not expected her to survive, but she was with them now, holding his sister's arm, squeezing her hand. Elinor wore rags and had covered her face as well. All Sandor could see were her dark eyes. His sister hadn't wanted him to come along, but he'd insisted he needed to see for himself. She couldn't argue with that.

“Fools, all of you,” Quenten had told them. He was no older than five-and-twenty, but he liked to act like he was their father. “You should be glad you got _out_.” Elinor had argued with him until late into the night. “Why risk your life, Ellie?” The maester had pleaded with her. “They may be looking for you. Gregor will be just as dead, whether you go or not.”

But Elinor could not be swayed. “I need to _see_ ,” she kept saying. “We've lost so much already, Quent. I need to see with my own eyes. How do you expect me to sleep if I don't know he's gone for sure?”

 _Quenten doesn't understand_ , Sandor thought. _He's not like us. He didn't grow up with Gregor._ The maester was just another fool in love with his sister who thought he could save them. _In the end, it wasn't him who saved us though._

The crowd parted as the herald announced the lion lord, but Sandor caught no more than a glimpse of him as he rode in on his courser and sat down by the side of the platform. A second horse followed, drawing in a man by his feet. _Could it be true? Could we be free of him at last?_ It was only when they dragged him onto the scaffold that Sandor realized the man to be executed wasn't Gregor but their _father_. Ser Harthor kept collapsing, his face pale as he stumbled up the wooden stairs.

“We bring before you Ser Harthor Clegane,” the herald cried, “to face judgment for the crime of plotting to take up arms against His Grace, King Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

“He's lying! Father's no traitor fightin' the king. He done nothing of that sort.” Sandor looked up at his sister, but her face was expressionless. “He's _lying_ , Ellie!”

Elinor shrugged. “Makes no matter if it's true or not. They'll kill father all the same.”

He didn't understand how _she_ of all people could be so cold, so indifferent. “Is _Gregor_ supposed to be up there, not father! We have to tell the lion lord father done nothing, Ellie. We have to!”

Elinor's face hardened. “He should have _protected_ us. We owe him _nothing_.”

“ _You_ do. _You_ owe him.” Sandor's hand clenched into a fist. “If the lion lord kills father 'n Gregor, _I'll_ be the lord of the keep, and I order you to tell them father done nothing.”

His sister looked at him calmly. “We're no lords, Sandor. We're dogs.”

“I'll be the _dog_ of the keep then,” he said stubbornly. He didn't like the way she talked to him as if he were still a little boy. “If you don't tell the lion lord, _I_ will.”

She grabbed his arm. “Don't. You'll be a _dead_ dog up there with father if you show your face.”

Sandor yanked free. “I've done nothing wrong.”

“Makes no matter. Father's done nothing wrong. The Lannisters' own sworn men who caught Gregor done nothing wrong. They're all dead men. Everyone didn't make it out that night is dead or good as dead, Quenten says.”

 _Quenten does too much talkin'. He's right about father though. Father's good as dead._ He felt so helpless watching the hangman put a noose around Ser Harthor's neck as two men propped him up. Then they checked the rope and slowly pulled him up until his legs were kicking in the air. Sandor turned his head.

“ _Look_ at him!” Elinor's face was hard. “He never tried to protect us. We had to protect ourselves.”

Sandor forced himself to look at the scaffold. _Ellie should have poisoned Gregor_ , he thought. His father's face had turned almost blue as he struggled for air, but whenever his legs stopped kicking, the executioner would lower him, allowing him a few breaths before jerking him up again.

Their father had never protected them, Ellie was right about that, but he did not deserve to die like _this_. And the hangman, the hangman looked so indifferent, so uninvolved, raising and lowering him on the gallows as if he were doing just another job. Sandor saw right through that though.  _That one's a monster jus' like Gregor, likes to kill people slowly._

Alma was beginning to grow nervous, tugging at his sister's arm. “We should go, m'lady. I don't like this none. Too many red cloaks.” She was right, Sandor realized. The soldiers with their lion-crested helmets were scouring the crowd as if they were looking for someone. _They know we fled the keep that night..._

Ellie shook her head. “Not before I see Gregor. I have to see him, Alma. Don't you want to see him die?”

Sandor was no longer sure he did. And there was that sickening doubt again that had been gnawing at him all day. “What if he got away, Ellie? What if he got away? Is Gregor, Ellie, Gregor always wins, he _always_ wins...”

She took a deep breath. “He didn't. Not this time. They'll bring him out after father, I promise.” But there was doubt in her eyes.

“You should have poisoned him,” Sandor said. _Him, not the bloody guards._ That had been sheer madness, even _Quenten_ said so.

Elinor turned around abruptly, glaring at him. “I tried. I _tried_ to poison Gregor. Quenten kept promising he'd get me Sweetsleep from the Citadel, but he never did, couldn't get none, nothing but empty talk from him. So I gave our sweet brother Dreamwine and Milk of the Poppy. Once, twice, _thrice_ I tried. Should have killed a horse each time, Quent said, but it only made him more aggressive. Tell me, Sandor, what did _you_ do to rid us of Gregor?”

 _Nothing_ , he thought. _Because Gregor always wins. Makes no matter what we do. He always wins. He got away again. We lost everything, and he got away_. He tried to fight back the tears.

The hangman was cutting off his father's privy parts and burning them while the herald kept shouting about the just punishment that awaited anyone with a treasonous heart. _I should have told father. I should have told him what Ellie was planning._

A man in the front row started retching as the executioner opened Ser Harthor's stomach with a single long cut, pulling out his entrails, spraying the spectators with blood. Sandor covered his eyes, fighting the urge to gag, but it was too late. His breakfast spilled onto the ground.

Ellie wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back. “I never thought Gregor would go for the lion lords themselves.” Even _her_ voice was shaky now. “Maybe one of their servants or their gold, something to get him in trouble with father, but not the lords themselves. Gregor preys on the _weak_ not the strong. I never thought-”

Alma squeezed her hand. “We did the right thing, m'lady. But we have to _leave_. Too many red cloaks. Quenten was right. Is not _safe_ here.”

Their father had stopped struggling, hanging motionless by his neck.

All Sandor wanted was to slap his sister, kick her, scratch her face. _You_ knew _Gregor would go for the lords_ , he thought. _Alma gave him Dreamwine. You know what he's like when he's had Dreamwine, you said so yourself. You_ knew _you were waking the mad dog, but all you could think of was watching him die_. He wanted to tell her, to let her know he could see through her charade, but he couldn't get out the words.

They were bringing out the horses now. Sandor had never seen an execution in his life, much less one for high treason, but he knew the part that was to come. “I don't want to see this, Ellie,” he whispered. “I can't-”

“Take him back, Alma,” his sister decided. “I'll stay and watch. I have to see. I need to know that Gregor is dead.”

Alma started crying and pleading with her to leave with them, but Sandor no longer cared. _You didn't save us_ , he thought. _You doomed us. I hope the lion lords catch you. I hope they catch you and kill you like father_.

He glanced at the wooden platform one last time, at his father's lifeless body swinging back and forth. They were still bringing out horses, twenty, thirty, _forty_. _What are they going to do with forty horses?_ But whatever it was, he did not want to see.

He took Alma's hand.  “Come. Leave her,” he said firmly. “We have to go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, hanging, drawing, and quartering really became a thing under [Eddie I](http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php?/topic/80129-tywin-lannister-and-edward-longshanks-i/) , so I just couldn't resist.


	7. Chapter 7

“We found another body in the river, my lord, a big one. It is bloated and badly disfigured, but-”

That was all Tywin needed to hear. “Check if it's him,” he ordered.

The captain bowed his head. “At once, my lord.”

Kevan felt a sharp twist in his stomach, as if someone were pulling at his intestines. _It won't be him. There is no way..._ “I can see for myself if you want, brother.”

Tywin frowned. “I doubt it's him,” he said, staring at the cup of wine in his left hand before placing it back on the table, untouched. “But do check, if it will ease your mind.” He was pacing back and forth. _Like the lions locked in the bowels of the Rock_ , Kevan thought _. Are they still there, I wonder? Or are they all dead?_

“How can a man eight feet tall just disappear off the face of the earth?” His brother was staring at the dark red canvas of their tent. Or perhaps he was looking at nothing in particular at all, as he so often did these days. “We should double the reward for his head.”

Kevan shuddered. _The gods know the smallfolk bring us enough heads as it is._ “I will give the order, my lord,” he said.

“I just don't understand _how..._ How could he get away?” Tywin sank into his chair at last, wincing ever so slightly as he did, exhaustion in his eyes. _He looks so old_. His brother had aged a good decade in less than a moon's turn.

“We will find him, I promise,” Kevan said quickly. “But _please_ , let us return to Casterly Rock. We need not stay in this place. You can send men to search for him. It has been so long since you've laid eyes on the Rock. Don't you miss home?”

It had taken over a hundred men and eighty horses to tear the bloody keep down. Kevan could still hear the screams of those buried inside. But instead of returning home, his brother stubbornly insisted on staying camped out by the ruins of Clegane's Keep, obsessed with leading the hunt for the monster himself.

Some days, Kevan wondered if they had both died _that_ night and were stuck in some hell, condemned to living and reliving their torment over and over again. _Damon... If it wasn't for Damon, may the Father judge him justly, we could have served the bloody beast what he deserved and moved on._

“We're _staying_.” His brother said in a tone that brokered no argument.

 _He will see reason eventually_ , Kevan thought. _He must_. He'd sent a raven to the King himself, begging him to recall Tywin to King's Landing, but the breach between Aerys and his brother went deeper than he had feared. There was no answer from the Red Keep.

 _If I cannot convince the King, Tywin will spend the rest of his life hunting down a ghost. He will go mad._ It wasn't the first time the thought crossed his mind. _But he left me no choice. Either this or-_

“They found the traitor's younger children,” his brother interrupted his thoughts. “A girl and a boy. They were hiding with a servant's family, but the girl's father betrayed them when he saw a piece of the old dog's body dragged through the village. Have them questioned. They may know where their brother is hiding.”

“They will tell us what they know, my lord, I will make sure of it.” Kevan rose. “Get some rest, Tywin. We will find Gregor.”

* * *

The sweet, putrid smell hit him like a punch in the stomach as he entered the maester's tent, making him gag. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of the body, relief prevailed.

The man had been beheaded. _Someone must have tried to collect a reward for that head. No man over six feet tall is safe in these parts any more_. The body was large, but even bloated, it wasn't large enough. Kevan shook his head. “It's not him. See that he is buried properly.”

Maester Selmond covered the corpse as if that would somehow mask the smell. “His lordship wants to see for himself first.”

Kevan felt a chill running down his spine. _I am his_ brother _. Who will he trust if not me?_ “Show him, then.”

The maester nodded. Kevan did not particularly like the man, but there was nothing he could do, at least for _now_. _Does he know maesters have been dropping dead like flies?_

But if Selmond had any inkling as to what was going to happen to him once he had outlived his usefulness, he did not show it. “Let me take you to the children, my lord,” he said. “I can help you make them talk, if you'd like.”

Bile rose in Kevan's throat. _I truly must be in hell that a man whose craft is the art of_ healing _would make me such an offer._ He felt his mouth tighten. _Tywin may yet keep him around, I suppose._ His own bitterness startled him. _When did I begin hating my brother?_ “That won't be necessary,” he said softly. “I'm tired. They'll still be there on the morrow.”

“I've questioned the maester who was with them,” Selmond continued, unperturbed. “He told me some interesting tales, claims the girl helped her brother by poisoning your guards.”

“A man will say anything when questioned sharply,” Kevan said coolly.

“You're right, I'm sure.” The maester turned around. “Do you need anything to help you sleep, my lord?”

“The usual,” Kevan said. “For me, and for my brother as well.”


	8. Chapter 8

Kevan waited until the camp had quieted down for the night before he got up from his pallet and dressed himself. The cup of spiced wine mixed with Sweetsleep still stood on the table. He took a sip to calm his nerves before pouring the rest into his wineskin. _Four nights times two, makes eight drops. That will do._

The air was crisp as he stepped out of the tent. “Can't sleep,” he told the guards. They were used to seeing him wander around aimlessly between the rows of tents in the middle of the night.

A faint light was flickering in Tywin's marquee. His brother hardly ever slept these days, refusing to take any of the maester's potions. Kevan felt a pang of guilt as he watched his shadow pace inside the tent. _It's not my fault_ , he thought. _I had no choice._

As a child, the maesters had always told him that going through hardship side by side welded people together. _Lies, nothing but lies._ He took one last look at the faint silhouette behind the crimson canvas. _Does he ever have regrets?_ He wondered. _Does he ever feel guilt?_

Or perhaps guilt truly was for lesser men. _What's done is done_. He straightened his shoulders and resumed walking down the muddy row towards the last tent on the left. It was made of the same dark red cloth as his own, but much smaller and streaked with dirt at the bottom.

The guard manning it stepped aside to let him through. _Just one_ , Kevan thought, feeling that familiar feeling of bitterness rising up in his throat again.  _Just_ one _guard for Tywin's most prized prisoners. This is what happens when you murder half of your own men._ But at least his brother's thirst for blood was working in his favor this time. _The fewer witnesses I'll have to deal with the better._

The inside of the tent was dark except for the glow of his oil lamp. A boy and a girl lay huddled on the ground, dressed only in their thin undergarments, their ankles shackled to the middle pole.

The boy was asleep, but the girl raised her head as he entered, pushing herself up. She was shivering in the cold, her eyes red, her face puffy. Kevan could see the outline of her pointed breasts through her undertunic.

“Where's Alma?” There was a sullen, almost angry tone in her voice. _And those eyes..._ Her eyes seemed so eerily familiar, Kevan could not bear to look at them.

For a moment, the tightness in his chest made it impossible to breathe. He clenched his fingers around the wineskin, resisting the urge to take another sip. _Could it be true what Selmond claims? Could she have helped her brother?_ The idea was _ridiculous_ , of course, just the kind of story only a man desperately trying to end the pain of torture could come up with. But nothing seemed impossible any more since _that_ night. He had to ask her to her face and judge for himself before he could-

“ _Alma_ , m'lord, my handmaid.” The girl's voice jarred him from his thoughts. “They taken her away... I need to know where she is...” She had crossed her arms around her chest, trying to cover herself, her eyes glistening in the dim light of his lamp.

 _She's just a child_ , Kevan thought, _scared for her friend and for herself_. “We let her go,” he lied. “She's of no value to us.” He took a deep breath. “I have some questions, my lady.”

“We don'  _know_ where Gregor is,” she said so forcefully she woke the boy sleeping in her lap. “I'd _tell_ you, m'lord, nobody wants him dead like me, I swear, I would _tell_ you, but I don' know!”

Kevan looked at her, and then at her brother trying to hide behind her. Suddenly, he felt completely calm again _. They're just children, cold and scared._ “I know.” He said. “That's not what I want to ask you.”

That was the last thing she had expected. “You _believe_ us?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.” He paused, knowing he should not say what he was about to tell them, but it no longer mattered.  _They'll be gone soon enough, one way or another._ “You _couldn't_ know where he is. Your brother is dead.”   _Gregor is dead._ It felt strangely satisfying to say the words out loud. _Tywin is chasing a dead man._

She stared at him blankly. “How do you _know_? They looking for him _everywhere_. I seen the red cloaks come through the village, askin' around, _takin'_ people-”

“He's dead,” Kevan interrupted her. “I know because I ordered his death and watched him die. He's gone.” _Burned, his ashes thrown in the river,_ _if the gods are good and Maester Edwell did his job._ Of course, there was no way of knowing for sure. Kevan had felt sick to his stomach as soon as the maester had started preparing the body to smuggle out of the keep, and he could hardly ask the man now. Edwell was just as dead as everyone else, slain for the crime of knowing too much.

“ _Why_ , m'lord?”

“ _Why_?” The boy echoed.

Half his face was gone, Kevan noticed for the first time. _Nothing but charred skin and raw, oozing flesh. A gift from his brother, no doubt._ He straightened his shoulders. “Because he deserved to die.”

The girl shook her head. “I saw them kill father... Gregor deserved _worse_ , m'lord, you  _know_  it... Why take pity on _him_?”

“I gave him a taste of the Strangler,” Kevan said, irritated. He'd asked himself again and again if he could have done anything differently, but the answer was always the same. _I had no choice. He had to go. I was running out of time._ “It was a quick death, yes, but hardly a sweet one.”

“ _Poison_? He should have been hanged, drawn and quartered, and that would have been _mercy..._ No, _no_ , m'lord, I believe none of it. He got away, he always does. So don't tell us no more of your sweet lies.”

 _She truly hates her brother_ , Kevan realized. She had that same look in her eyes as Tywin did so often these days: anger, frustration, the knowledge she'd been cheated out of justice yet again. _He hurt her, too. She knows what true pain feels like, and she hates him for it. There is no way she would have helped him._

“Gregor always wins,” the boy said, burying his scarred face in his hands. “I _told_ you, Ellie, Gregor always wins, he _always_ gets away.”

“He _didn't_ ,” Kevan said, exasperated, seating himself on the only chair in the tent, looking down at the skin of wine in his hands.  _They're good as dead anyway_ , he reminded himself. “I had your brother killed because I mean to live.”It felt good to finally tell someone.

The girl cocked her head, and even her brother sat up, suddenly interested.

“You know what happened,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “It's an open secret, no matter what my brother likes to tell himself. As long as Gregor lives... as long as my brother _thinks_ he lives… I am a...a-” _A_ _victim._ He was unable to say that word out loud. _As long as he lives, I am a_ victim _, not a_ witness _._ “I was in the room... I _saw_ with my own eyes... Everyone else who did is _dead_ , hanged, slaughtered, poisoned, buried alive.”

She frowned. “You're a _Lannister_ , m'lord, an' his lordship's _brother_.”

 _I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men, aye, you don't have to tell me that._ He'd been able to comfort himself with that thought until the day they had found Damon's body in the woods. “Slain by outlaws,” Tywin had declared. He'd hanged two hedge knights a few days later who'd confessed to the crime. Their bodies were still rotting on the gibbet along with countless others, but they were little consolation to Kevan.

“I may be a Lannister,” he said. “But my blood won't save me, not if I'm the last to know. A common enemy though... As long as your brother lives, we can hunt him down together.” _At a price..._ But everything always had a price. _Killing his own brother would have driven Tywin just as mad sooner or later_. _I saved us both._

“An' there's jus'  _one_  way to make a man live forever, is what you're tellin' me, m'lord?” The girl studied him, trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “Promise me it's true, _promise_ me Gregor's dead.”

“He is. My brother left me no choice when he killed our cousin.” _All for the crime of catching the monster._ Every time he remembered Damon's cut throat and his cracked skull, Kevan felt his blood pulsing in his ears. _Our own kin, a Lannister of the Rock, your late wife's beloved brother, butchered like a dog. How_ could _you, Tywin?_

She nodded, convinced at last. “I watched father die. There's some people nobody's ever safe from them, not even their own blood. But what if he finds out it was you who-”

“That is none of your concern, my lady” Kevan said, a little more harshly than he had intended. He did not need her to remind him of what was at stake for himself. _Time to end this_. “My brother will insist on having you questioned. I'd let you go, but with all the soldiers searching for your brother...” He paused, handing her the skin. “I've brought you wine to help you sleep. It's not much, but it should suffice for the both of you.”

The girl weighed it in her hands before handing it to her brother. “Drink, Sandor. Is best we get some sleep.”

The boy gulped the wine down greedily until his sister grabbed the skin. “That's _enough_. You heard m'lord. We have to _share_ it.” She closed her eyes and took a small sip before setting the rest aside and cradling the boy's head in her lap. “Sleep now. Gregor is dead, an' the lion lord will tell his brother we've done nothing. Everything's going to be alright.”

For half a heartbeat, Kevan was fooled by her words, but then he saw she was crying. _She knows_. “You don't have to drink that,” he said, unsure what else to do or say. He'd ordered many men's deaths, but _this_ was different. “Maybe we can find another way...”

“I watched father die. I don' know much, but I know a monster when I see one. Is what happens when you grow up with a monster as a brother. I see them all.” She was swirling the wine around in the skin before raising it to her lips and emptying it in one go. “Is better this way. Give Alma a taste, if it please m'lord, and Quent as well.”

Kevan did not know what to say, so he just nodded as she rested her head on the ground.

“What did you want to ask me, m'lord? You said you had some questions...”

“Makes no matter now.” He said. “I got my answers.”

“You're a kind man, m'lord.” Her voice was slurred as if she was drunk. “I'm sorry... I shouldn't have... I didn't know he would... I'm sorry-”

 _Sorry for_ what? Kevan felt a twist in his stomach. But the potion had started taking effect, and she could no longer move her lips, her face slowly freezing into a mask. _It's just the poison clouding her mind_ , he told himself. _It means nothing_.

He waited until both brother and sister had stopped breathing before getting up. _She's right about one thing_ , he thought. _Tywin will figure out what happened once his rage cools and he has time to think it through. He'll put the pieces together_. But that was a problem for another day. _For now, we'll keep hunting Gregor. And figure out who killed our most valuable prisoners._

“If anyone comes asking,” he told the guard on his way out, “tell them Maester Selmond was the last to see the children.”

 


End file.
